


I Don't Want To Be a Monster Among Men

by StoriesofmyLife



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slightly De-aged Tony Stark, Smut, Starker, hallowen parties, kind of, smut with feelings, the movie grease is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 06:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: It takes an invite to a Halloween party, a leather jacket and a pirate costume for Peter and Tony to realize their feelings for each other.And a little (big) nudge from Michelle Jones.





	I Don't Want To Be a Monster Among Men

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first foray into this particular ship. I have a guilty pleasure for it and if this isn't your thing, please turn right around. Peter is twenty one in his story and I de-aged Tony to around forty, just to lessen the gap a little bit. Also, Morgan doesn't exist in this story (sorry) and it's also been a really long time since I've written anything smut wise, so please be kind. Takes place a year after Endgame. 
> 
> Also this is unedited and being posted at 2 in the morning so, please forgive any mistakes or errors.

Peter could hear the thumping bass of the music coming from the penthouse of the tower as soon as he crossed into Manhattan and he felt the butterflies open their wings in his nervous stomach. He landed gracefully on the balcony outside his own room, tapping his wrists and the web shooters disappeared, transforming into thin, discreet bracelets wrapped delicately around his wrists. 

_“Good evening, Peter.”_ FRIDAY greeted him when he entered his room, throwing his backpack down on his unmade bed. 

“Hey, Fri, how’s the party going?” He asked, heading to his closet and digging through it to find his costume. 

_“It’s in full swing, Mr. Stark is just waiting on your appearance, shall I tell him you’re here?”_ FRIDAY asked and the butterflies fluttered their wings at her response. 

“No, that’s okay, I’m almost done in here.” Peter said, hopping around his room, trying to squeeze into the _impossibly_ tight jeans his costume required. With a lot more wiggling and what could only be described as gyrating, he made it into the tight black jeans with a grin of triumph. 

He threw on the matching black shirt, tucking it into the jeans before zipping them up and throwing on the matching black belt. He fluttered around his room, digging through all of his clothes to find the rest of the pieces before he darted into the bathroom and gelled his hair into the appreciate style and after giving himself one last glance in the mirror, he took a deep breath and headed towards the opening notes of the _Monster Mash._

_~~~~~~~~~_

It had been a regular day in the lab, Peter tinkering with the Iron Spider suit and Mr. Stark working on upgrades to the Iron Man suit, humming along to the AC/DC song that was playing at a low volume in the background—lower than Mr. Stark would usually have it, but he always made sure to be respectful of Peter’s constantly dialed up senses. Too loud of a volume overwhelmed him and gave him a searing headache that left him almost incapacitated for days. 

But this, Tony humming and signing under his breath, was familiar and almost soothing to Peter as he worked. And though Peter would never admit it out loud, it gave him peace knowing that Mr. Stark was there, breathing, living, heart-beat strong in his chest as his hips swayed to the music and hearing his low voice murmur lyrics that washed over Peter like an odd lullaby. 

It had been almost a year since the snap, since the defeat of Thanos and the world was almost back to normal. Families reunited, schools resuming, the stock market stabilizing and with it, Peter tried to play catch up on the five years he lost. Aunt May didn’t push him, she let him take the year to figure out what he wanted to do—technically he was twenty-one now, of legal drinking age and too old to be a junior in high school. But mentally, he still felt like the seventeen year old kid he was when he…died? disappeared? Peter was still unsure what to call his cease to existence. 

He started with moving out of the apartment that May had moved into after he turned to dust—after spending two weeks sleeping on the couch in her one bedroom apartment in a nicer area of Queens, he waved off her offers of finding a bigger place. She had made a home for herself and while it stung that she had done that without Peter, he couldn't blame her for wanting to move on and try to be happy with what she had left. He wanted her to be happy, even if that meant she was now dating and living with Happy, someone, he was pretty sure, tolerated Peter at best. 

And Mr. Stark, after his second stint in space and nearly dying to snap back the second half the universe, had bought back the Tower he had sold years ago and moved back into the city, leaving Pepper, who had found peace with their life away from the city, the cabin they had bought in Alaska. She returned the ring via Happy and the settled back into being friends after a few months of awkward exchanges after their breakup. 

He offered Peter a place to stay and Peter accepted it and together, they started putting the pieces of their lives back together, along with the rest of the Avengers that trickled in and out of the Tower occasionally. 

It was rough, those first few months of being back. The nightmares Peter suffered often left him without sleep and the feeling of not fitting into this jump into the future left him feeling like a social leper and it made him withdraw even more into himself. He wandered the Tower at night, his feet eventually leading him down to the lab, where he would find Tony bent over new schematics for some new version of the suit or upgrades for Rhodey’s legs or Cap’s shield. Sometimes they wouldn't talk, sometimes they would, but no matter what the night brought—it was a mutual understanding that things had changed and shifted in their lives. They’d both suffered immensely at Thanos’s hands and they weren't sure what pieces of their old lives fit into the newer version. 

Peter always felt like he had this knot in his chest, so tight it was almost constricting his airway and it always made his head feel like he was stuck underwater. His thoughts were one jumbled mess and he was so unsure of anything, but the one thing he was sure of was that being near Mr. Stark made it loosen to the point where he felt like he could breathe and his head was above the roaring waves of uncertainty. 

And he knew Mr. Stark wasn't fairing much better than he was. He had a long healing process and even longer road to full recovery after wielding the gauntlet with all the Infinity Stones. Peter would never forget the absolute horror he felt watching Mr. Stark fall to his knees or his scream of agony when they couldn't find a pulse in his neck as he laid there, brown eyes lifeless, his cheeks streaked with blood from the battle and Peter felt like he had died, too. 

If it wasn't for Thor summoning all of the lightening he could and restarting Mr. Stark’s heart, Peter’s return to the new world would’ve been a lot bleaker than it was. He remembers what it was like, wandering around the orange wasteland that was Titan, scared and alone and he never wanted to feel that level of loneliness again. He can remember, in his weaker moments, curling up in the sand and crying out for Mr. Stark—wishing more than anything to hear his voice, hear the thrust of the repulsers as Mr. Stark came to his rescue. 

His return to Earth, to life, would've felt like he was back there, on Titan, wandering, the hollow ache of fear and loneliness threatening to choke him, had Mr. Stark died that day.

Peter was there, every day, helping Mr. Stark through his recovery and regain the use of his arm. He worked tirelessly with Bruce and Dr. Cho to come up with some way to help restore the extensive nerve damage that had been done, along with the healing of the burnt flesh that the gauntlet had left behind. And slowly, he made progress. 

They all did.

Peter decided to not go back to high school, choosing instead to finish his diploma in a few months and with the help of Bruce and Tony collectively, he applied to MIT and would be starting in the spring semester on a full ride scholarship that Peter was sure Mr. Stark had a hand in. 

Peter was anxious about leaving the city, of being away from his home that he had carved out of the new growth of his new life. His life at the Tower had become everything he knew—along with Mr. Stark’s presence in his life. They had grown closer, bordering on unhealthy, since Peter had moved in. After being away from Mr. Stark, of knowing the true fear of what it would be like to lose him, even it was only for a handful of minutes, made Peter feel like he couldn't breathe when he was away from him for longer than a few days. And Mr. Stark, it seemed, felt the same way. 

Something had shifted in their time away from each other, Peter had noticed a few days into his new residency at the Tower, something that wasn't there before he was snapped into nothing. They’d grown closer, sure, they leaned on each other in a way they hadn't when Peter was still considered a kid and not an adult and they had settled into an almost _domesticity,_ falling into a routine that was comforting after years of going through the motions for Mr. Stark’s part and Peter, well Peter was just happy to have something safe and sure and somewhat predictable after being away on a planet all by himself with no near in sight. 

That predictability, however, was shattered when he met MJ and Ned for their routine coffee date at some obscure shop down in the West Village that MJ was fond of and Peter was half way through his pumpkin spice latte with extra whip and regaling them with a story from earlier this morning when Mr. Stark tried and failed at making them crepes for breakfast—which ended with kitchen needing a thorough scrub down courtesy of DUM-E and both of them needing showers. 

Ned was in stitches, MJ, however, was simply staring at him in her usual calculating way that always made Peter feel he was a specimen under a microscope. 

“So when are you planning on telling the War Monger you’re in love with him?” she asked off handedly, taking a delicate sip of her blacker than black coffee, eyeing with detached interest over the rim of her chipped mug. 

Peter choked on his pumpkin spice and had to be patted roughly on the back by Ned in order to clear his lungs to respond with what could only described as sputtering. 

_“What?!_

He could feel the stares of other patrons on his back and the tips of his ears turned red from embarrassment. MJ, however, remained unfazed, continuing to sip from her mug as if she didn’t just completely shatter the entire world Peter had carefully and painstakingly constructed for himself over the last few months. 

Even Ned was looking at her with a mix between _“are you crazy?”_ to _“huh, you’ve got a point there.”_

“MJ, I don’t—Mr. Stark and I—we—“ Peter cleared his throat and lowered his voice and said to his own mug vehemently, _“I’m not in love with Mr. Stark.”_

MJ clucked her tongue, shrugging her thin shoulders, “Whatever you say, loser.”

Turning her attention Ned, she said “Have you gone over the review questions I emailed you?”

The rest of the conversation washed right over Peter’s head and it wasn't long before Ned was nudging him, telling him they both had to go and with numb arms, Peter wrapped them both in a loose hug with promises of meeting up again next week on his lips and ignoring MJ’s smirk, Peter walked to a waiting Happy and got into the car on autopilot. 

He watched the familiar buildings pass by in a blur of steel and glass, his mind whirling and his stomach feeling vaguely nauseous the closer they got to the tower. He thanked Happy distractedly, completely missing the concerned look the older man was shooting him as he watched Peter disappear into the side entrance. 

Peter stepped into the elevator without really registering where his feet were taking him, giving a vague wave to FRIDAY when she greeted him and the elevator made its ascent to the penthouse. His mind was racing a million miles an hour and he couldn't seem to grasp a single thought and hold onto it for more than a few seconds before it disappeared into the frayed and fragmented mess that was his brain. 

And when the elevator doors opened and he stepped out into the living room, where he saw Mr. Stark, clad in nothing but a black tank and sweats, doing push ups on the floor with Rhodey watching over him with a critical eye, did his thoughts settle on to one thing and one thing only. 

The way Mr. Starks biceps flexed with the extortion of his movements, the tan skin gleaming with sweat in the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the floor to ceiling windows the penthouse provided. The sharp breaths that left his lips every time he pulled himself up, the grunts that left his lips on the way down and suddenly Peter could picture Mr. Stark, sweaty and breathless and making those noises under a different _circumstances,_ Peter’s name leaving those perfectly sculpted lips on a breathy exhale, followed by a soft curse. 

Peter’s eyes focused on a bead of sweat rolling down Mr. Starks temple and he licked his lips, wishing he could taste the sweat coming off Mr. Stark’s body, feel those strong biceps wrap around him as he was pulled towards an equally strong chest and _oh god—_

Leave it to MJ to take whatever peace Peter could find and slice through it in the only way MJ could. Going directly for the kill shot. 

Peter tried, he really tried to keep normal and pretend like his world hadn't tilted of its axis and was now spinning freely towards rock bottom, but he knew he was sucking hardcore at it. 

He struggled to look Mr. Stark in the eyes without blushing, he was now losing sleep not because of nightmares, but because his mind conjured up other _things_ instead. Picturing Mr. Stark in the lab, brushing up against Peter, whispering in his ear, bending him over the nearest lab table— Mr. Stark trapping him in silk sheets as he did dirty things to his body, Mr. Stark sneaking into his shower, touching him with those calloused hands covered in soapy water, drifting _downwards—_

Peter woke up, breathless and hard, every time and it was getting exhausting. His guilt was eating him alive at thinking about Mr. Stark this way and he felt even guiltier knowing he was acting weird around Mr. Stark as a result of him thinking about him this way. 

So he tried harder to act like nothing was wrong and spend more time with Mr. Stark to make up for his odd behavior.

And that’s why, when Mr. Stark ended their relative peace and quiet in the lab that day by announcing he was having a Halloween party and Peter was invited, he said yes before really thinking things through. 

Because Peter was the worst at parties and anything remotely social. 

And he hadn't really been around other people, with Mr. Stark in the same room, since his little revelation and while Peter was sure that Mr. Stark still didn’t know about his little secret, he would soon be in a room with Earth’s Mightiest heroes, two of which were trained spies that could sniff out any attempt at subterfuge like two pure bred bloodhounds, one was a literal mind reader, one was a highly trained assassin that was trained to learn his opponent and exploit all weaknesses to use them to his advantage and the others, well, they were all friends and friends gossiped and it wouldn't be long before everyone in Manhattan knew Peter’s secret. 

All of his worry faded temporarily when Mr. Stark gave him a smile as if Peter gave him the thing he desired most in the world and he tried to ignore the happy tug his heart strings gave at the sight. 

“Great! Start thinking of costume ideas kid, because you can’t get into the party without one, sorry, house rules. Do you think Cap will dress up? Maybe him and Barnes will dress up in a couples costume—“

Peter huffed out a nervous laugh at Mr. Stark’s joke and once he turned and got back to his Iron Man upgrades, Peter shot a quick text to MJ and Ned in their group chat. 

_Peter: 911_

_Peter: Mr. Stark is throwing a Halloween party and it’s costume only—what should I wear?_

_Peter: Serious options only plz_

He went back to his own blue prints, but his mind was too distracted to do anything useful and he leap out of his seat when his phone buzzed. 

_MJ: If Mean Girls has taught us anything, it’s that Halloween is one night a year where its socially allowed to dress slutty and no one’s allowed to judge you_

Ned confirmed this with a gif of Karen pointing to her mouse ears and saying _“I’m a mouse, duh.”_

Peter smacked his forehead, drawing a raised eyebrow from Mr. Stark, “You good, kid?”

“Huh, yeah, I’m good.” Peter stuttered, giving him a lame thumbs up. 

Mr. Stark looked like he wanted to press further, but decided against it and went back to his work.

Peter went back to his phone, typing out a string of annoyed texts. 

_Peter: Not helping_

_Peter: I said serious options only_

_Peter: I’m not dressing up in lingerie_

_Peter: At least not in public_

_MJ: I always thought you’d be into that_

_Ned: ew_

_MJ: Ned, it’s 2023, be more open minded_

_Ned: sorry_

_Ned: what about dressing up as iron man???_

_Peter: I want to look attractive, not like an obsessed kid playing dress up_

_MJ: Aren’t you tho???_

_Peter: I hate both of you_

MJ sent him a link and Peter opened it without thinking, his cheeks going up in flames when he saw the contents and he let a out a rather hysterical laugh. 

It was a website dedicated to superhero themed lingerie and MJ had found the page dedicated to Iron Man and Peter found himself scrolling through the options with a mixture of dark curiosity and abject horror that this was even a _thing._

“Whatcha got there, kid?”

Peter scrambled to close the page, locking his phone and ignoring the urge to chuck it through a window, he shoved it into the pocket of his jeans and shot Mr. Stark what he hoped was innocent grin, “Nothing!”

Mr. Stark eyed him, from his flushed cheeks, panicked breathing and wild look in his eyes and gave him a slow, knowing, grin. 

“Did someone just send you nudes?”

Peter wanted to die. 

_MJ: You’re welcome, loser._

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Peter struggled for weeks, trying to come up with a costume idea that wasn't either a). Dorky, b). Nerdy and C). Embarrassing. 

So all of Ned’s ideas went out the window in one fell swoop and MJ wasn't much help, she just kept sending him links to lingerie websites that got more ridiculous as the weeks went on and the day of the party was getting closer and closer and he kept coming up empty. 

He wanted something simple, not too elaborate or crazy. Something _subtle,_ that was sexy, but not MJ’s solution of a vague set of ears that resembled some sort animal and matching lingerie set that made would make him look like he was auditioning for the next _Pretty Woman._

(What MJ didn’t need to know was that he saved those websites, bookmarked them on a private server for a rainy day—Peter wasn't getting his hopes up, _he wasn’t)_

And despite his current resentment towards his unhelpful friends, he still met up with them for their regular coffee date and as they were wandering the streets of the West Village, various ranges of blended beverages in hand, they stumbled across a vintage second hand store and that’s where inspiration struck. 

Displayed in the window was a beautiful, black, vintage leather jacket that screamed _dangerous_ and _sexy_ and Peter was pretty sure he fell in love with the mannequin that was dressed as a ’50’s greaser. 

Peter stopped, gaping in the middle of the sidewalk, pumpkin spice latte dangling precariously from his grasp, gazing in the window with such awe, that he completely missed the look shared between his two friends and the matching grins they both wore. 

“It’s _perfect_.” Peter breathed, ignoring MJ’s snort. 

“And I’m sure War Monger will appreciate the cruise down memory lane of his teenage years when people actually dressed like that.”

That was about as close to a seal of approval he was going to get from MJ and all the encouragement Peter needed to walk into the store and try it on. It fit like it was made for him and when he looked in the mirror, he felt _sexy_ and dangerous. He looked older, more mature and he felt _confident,_ in a way that reminded him of when he put on his suit and his mask. He felt like a different person and he was sure he would get Mr. Starks attention in this. 

(He had to keep reminding himself of that as the cashier rang him out and told him his total, which was a lot more than he expected from a second hand store— _“it’s vintage man.”—_ as he walked out of the store, his wallet feeling significantly lighter than it had been when he walked in, but he was _in love, okay?_ )

And now, walking down the hallway towards the main area of the penthouse, that had been transformed into a spooky graveyard complete with headstones and thin wisps of fog rolling over the floor from a near by fog machine, he was about to see if his careful planning and monetary sacrifice had been worth it. 

He tried not to be disappointed when he didn’t see Mr. Stark right at first, but he did wave to Natasha, who was behind the bar mixing drinks and looking lethal in a dead on impression of Natalie Portman in _Black Swan,_ black tutu and all. He wandered over to her, making his way through the crowd of costumed strangers and sat down on one of the bar stools, flushing under her raised, knowing eyebrow. 

“Nice costume,” she said and Peter was thankful for his enhanced hearing or else he wouldn't of been able to hear her over _Thriller_ pulsing through the penthouse. 

Despite his nerves, he gave her a bright smile, “Thanks! I like yours too, _Black Swan_ was a really good movie.”

Natasha gave him a quirk of her lips, her eyes glittering with knowledge only she knew. Peter liked Natasha and Peter knew she liked him, which gave him great relief to know because frankly, Natasha scared him more than Thanos ever could. 

“Thank you, _маленький паук._ What’s your poison?” She asked, transitioning from Russian to English in a way that made Peter slightly dizzy and envious at the same time. 

Peter swallowed, looking around at all the alcohol helplessly, completely out of his depth. It was strange, dying a seventeen year old and coming back five years later as a twenty-one year old, who was of legal drinking age and therefore able to partake in the activity without getting into trouble, “Uh, martini? Shaken, not stirred?”

Natasha quirked another eyebrow, “As you wish, double oh seven.”

Peter could feel his ears turning red, but sue him, okay? His knowledge of alcohol consisted only of what he saw in movies and Mr. Stark, who, while mostly sober, would fall off the bandwagon occasionally and have a drink. Peter, who in an act to teen rebellion, had once taken a discreet sip of Mr. Stark’s drink one time, when they were working in the lab and had nearly gagged at the contents of the glass. A scotch on the rocks would not be his drink of choice. _Ever._

_But,_ Peter thought, he did wonder what it would be like, to taste the smokey flavor on Mr. Stark’s tongue, feel the heat on his lips, smell the bourbon on his breath as he whispered Peter’s name—

_“Peter!”_

He jumped, nearly falling off the barstool and a steady hand of the Captain held him in place, preventing him from face planting on the shiny tile below and embarrassing himself in front of the entire party. 

“Whoa, easy there,” Steven said, concern lacing his tone, “are you alright, Peter?”

Peter blushed, huffing out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, I’m fine—“

“Here you go, shaken, not stirred, as requested.” Natasha said, sliding a martini glass across the polished would towards Peter’s elbow. 

Steve frowned, giving Natasha a disapproving stare, “You’ve been giving him alcohol?” he asked in his best no nonsense voice, blue eyes flicking down to the glass as if it had personally offended him. 

Natasha merely rolled her eyes, shooting Peter a wink and sashayed off into the crowd. If Peter blinked he would've missed how easily she slipped into the fray and disappeared undetected. 

“How many of those had you had? Peter, you’re not even old enough to drink—“

“Easy there Mr. Rogers,” a voice interrupted, cool and confident and Peter wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole, “Believe it or not, the kid is twenty-one, perfectly legal in the _U S of A_ to drink and besides, it’s a party, lighten up.”

Steve turned his frown to Mr. Stark, whether it was because of the nick name or being berated, Peter wasn't sure, but either way, he had the decency to duck his head and mutter an apology to Peter. 

“It’s fine, Cap, it’s been an adjustment for me, too.” Peter said, taking a hesitant sip of his drink and he tried not to wince at the strong tang of gin across his tongue. 

Steve gave him a smile and it was then that Peter took in his costume and he laughed, “So you’re actually Mr. Rogers? That’s fantastic.”

Steve blushed, looking down at his costume—button down sweater over a button down shirt, khaki slacks, loafers and even his hair was brushed over in the same way the TV icon wore it, “I was never one for dressing up, it was actually Bucky’s idea, he said it would be ironic.” Steve explained with a roll of his eyes. 

Mr. Stark slung an arm over Peter, who ignored the way his heart picked up when he felt the heat of his skin, even through the thickness of his leather jacket, “I still think my idea was better.”

Peter swallowed heavily, chancing a glance up at Mr. Stark and he nearly choked on his tongue at the sight. 

In all of his thoughts of his _own_ costume, he didn’t put much thought to Mr. Stark’s own costume. He’d expect it to be something elaborate and ostentatious, the center of attention and the talk of the party, as the billionaire often was. 

And while his pirate’s costume was probably of the upmost authenticity and of the finest quality, it was rather…simple and not at all what Peter would've expected of the over the top billionaire. 

But there was no denying the _want_ that surged through Peter at the sight of Mr. Stark’s tanned, toned chest that was exposed due to the loose cream tunic and he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of those strong thighs encased in the brown breeches said tunic was tucked into. 

He felt breathless and hard and when he flicked his eyes up to meet Mr. Stark’s, the older man was appraising him with the same level of _want_ in those whiskey brown eyes. Eyes that, Peter noticed, were lined in a dark kohl liner that made them appear even darker. 

Which, okay, yeah, _that_ was sexy. 

“What uh—“ Peter cleared his throat, “what was your idea, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes continued to appraise him, a small frown ticking down his lips before he brightened, “Well, since Barnes has all the right parts, I suggested the Tin Man and our little blue eyed super soldier could've been a rather dashing Dorothy, but as you can see, I was ignored.” He sniffed, taking a sip of his bourbon on the rocks and eyeing Steve distastefully over his glass. 

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’ll catch up with you later, Peter, Tony.” he said, nodding in the genius’ direction before he wandered off. 

Peter stifled a laugh, taking another sip of his drink and feeling the warmth spread down through his chest, into his stomach, which had since settled. He pretended the warmth was alcohol and nothing to do with the fact that Mr. Stark still had an arm around him. 

“So sensitive, at least Barnes thought it was funny.” Mr. Stark muttered, removing his arm from Peter’s shoulders and choosing instead to occupy the bar stool next to Peter, which was an improvement when he felt Mr. Stark’s thigh brush against his. 

Mr. Stark turned his full attention to Peter then, his eyes once again appraising his costume and unsure what to do, Peter took another sip of his drink, feeling his cheeks flood with color under Mr. Stark’s attention. 

“I love the costume, Pete.” Mr. Stark said, sipping his drink thoughtfully, “it’s very rebel without a cause meets _Danny Zuko_ of you.”

Peter smiled, feeling his chest warm at the praise, “Thanks and I like yours too, though I will say, I was expecting something more… _extravagant_ coming from you.”

Mr. Stark took the gentle teasing on the chin, shooting Peter a grin, “You try planning a party, running a company and looking after a wayward tenant and try to find time to think up an elaborate costume idea. Besides,” he continued, flicking his gaze over Peter, _again,_ “I think it’s doing it’s job.” he finished with another smirk, his lips wrapping around the brim of his drink.

His thigh brushed Peter’s again, deliberate, and Peter could swear his heart stopped, before it began to work over drive, thumping so loudly in his chest he was surprised the whole party couldn't hear it. 

Peter’s lips found his own glass and after taking a leisurely sip of his drink, he set it back down on the shiny mahogany and leaned in close, his lips brushing Mr. Stark’s ear, “Is that so? Are you trying to gain someone’s attention,” he whispered, his breath a caress against Mr. Stark’s skin, _“Mr. Stark?”_

This close, he could smell Mr. Stark’s _Armani_ cologne, mixed with the smokiness of the bourbon in his glass, the saltiness of the sweat on his skin and the scent of motor oil that always seemed to cling to him no matter how often he showered and changed his clothes. Peter couldn't stop himself from inhaling if he tried, his nose grazing Mr. Stark’s flushed cheek and he heard Mr. Stark’s breathing hitch, his racing pulse and the heaviness of his next swallow of bourbon. 

“I always have everyone’s attention, regardless of what I’m wearing, or have you just now taken notice?” Mr. Stark’s smooth voice brushed Peter’s ear and he couldn't fight the shiver down his spine if he tried. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, but it had nothing to do with his spidey senses. 

Mr. Stark turned his head, catching Peter’s gaze, his eyes shimmering with a heat that made Peter part his lips, “What about you, hmm? Are you trying to catch someone’s eye,” his heavy gaze fell to Peter’s parted lips, causing Peter to lick them unconsciously and Mr. Starks eyes tracked the movement, _“Mr. Parker?”_

His eyes were alight with amusement, dancing with mirth and heat and _god_ what a dangerous combination that was. 

“Can I tell you a secret, Peter?” Mr. Stark whispered, his warm breath fanning Peter’s lips and Peter swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. Mr. Starks calloused fingers brushed the inside of his jean clad thing, tracing gentle patterns into the worn material and Peter hypersensitive senses caused him to feel every swipe of those callouses against his skin as if the material of his jeans weren't there. Peter closed his eyes against the sensations, his erection throbbing in the tight confinement of his pants and he had to stop himself from moaning aloud at the thought of Mr. Stark’s hand moving _a little higher._

Peter flicked his eyes open, glancing up at Mr. Stark through his lashes, “Of course Mr. Stark, you can tell me anything.” Peter breathed, biting his lip in anticipation. 

Mr. Stark grinned, slow and charming, brushing his lips against Peter’s cheek, sliding his hands just _a little higher,_ his gentle fingers brushing the tip of Peter’s cock through his jeans and whispered, _“I’ve always had a thing for greasers.”_

Peter gasped, his eyes flying open and Tony chuckled lowly, “Enjoy the party.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd just as Natasha had, leaving Peter breathless and wanting and _achingly hard,_ which was only made even more clear due to the fact that the jeans he wore were like a second skin. 

His mind was whirling, alight with the fact that Mr. Stark seemed to be _just_ in interested in Peter as Peter was in _him_ and that fact alone made him feel as he received his acceptance letter to MIT all over again. 

“Peter, there you are sweetie—“ 

Peter jumped for the second time that night, damning his spider sense for failing him, yet again, at alerting him to someone’s presence behind him. 

He cringed internally at the voice of his aunt, not wishing to see her right now, in the state that he was in, that was a conversation he was so not ready to have just yet. 

“Hey, May, wow you look, uh, you look great.” He complimented, giving her get up a once over and smiling despite himself at the sight of her costume. Morticia Adams. And he was willing to bet that somehow, his aunt managed to rope Happy into being the Gomez to her Morticia. 

“Thanks, Happy is around here somewhere—honey are you alright?” May’s gaze seemed to settle on him and really focus. 

Peter knew he must look a sight, flush cheeks, sweaty skin, he just prayed she didn’t look _down._

“It’s uh, kinda hot in here, I’m gonna—“ He gestured over his shoulder in the vague direction of the bathroom and did his own disappearing act, but not before he heard his aunt shout, “ _wait have you been drinking?!”_

Instead of going to the bathroom, which was probably occupied anyway, his feet seemed to carry him down the hallway and down the familiar course to the lab. He just needed a minute to breathe and possibly take care of his uh, _problem,_ in private. The thumping of the music faded with the shut of the heavy door to the lab, and Peter felt his tense shoulders relax, his head feeling lighter now that he wasn't around so many people. 

He hopped up on the lab table, shucking his jacket off of his shoulders and laying it down next to him on the table and he just _breathed,_ letting the cool air of the lab wash over his overheated skin. 

He closed his eyes, his mind swimming with the memory of Mr. Stark’s touch, the way his warm breath felt on his already hot skin, the sound of his voice, low and slightly rough. Peter shivered, licking his lips, remembering the way Mr. Stark’s eyes tracked the movement, like he wanted to be the one licking Peter’s lips. And _god_ , did Peter want that, too. 

His erection had gone down slightly with aunt May’s sudden appearance, but it was back in full force as the memories of what happened not even ten minutes ago assaulted Peter’s brain and he groaned in frustration, his hand twitching at his side. 

“Would you like a hand with that?”

Peter’s heart stuttered, his eyes flicking open to the sight of Mr. Stark, leaning against the door frame, watching Peter with a hunger that made him breathless. 

His dark gaze slid over Peter’s flushed face, the way the black t-shirt clung to his sweaty skin, down to the obvious problem in his jeans. He licked his lips and Peter’s dick twitched in response. 

_“Please, Mr. Stark.”_ Peter whispered, hips canting up in clear invitation and that’s all Mr. Stark needed to hear. 

He watched with hooded eyes as Mr. Stark made his way over to him, ripping his tunic out of his pants as he went, tossing it to the floor, exposing his tan chest to Peter’s greedy gaze. 

He was close enough for Peter to feel the heat of his skin and smell the bourbon on his breath, but his eyes were completely sober when they gazed into Peter’s, “Are you sure?”

With a desperation that would've made Peter embarrassed if he was in his right mind, he reached out and wrapped his hands around the back of Mr. Stark’s neck and tugged, crashing his lips agains his.

Time slowed at the first press of his lips against Mr. Stark’s full warm, full ones. And it sped up at the sound of the guttural groan that left Peter’s lips at the feel. Mr. Stark’s lip were warm and wanting under Peter’s, opening to him easily and Peter moaned at the smokey flavor of the bourbon on his tongue, the wet heat of his mouth and he sucked wantonly at Mr. Stark’s bottom lip, nipping at the sensitive skin and receiving a grunt of appreciation in return. A sound that went straight to Peter’s aching cock. 

Mr. Stark kissed just like Peter thought he would—gentle and thorough, but rough with passion and finesse of someone who’s done this a lot. He nipped at Peter’s bottom lip, caressed his tongue in a way that had Peter feeling dizzy and when he trapped his tongue with his and began to _suck,_ Peter thought he would come in his pants just from that alone. 

Peter parted the kiss on a moan, throwing his head back in pure ecstasy and he groaned with kiss swollen lips when Mr. Stark’s lips moved from his to his neck, down his throat, sucking at the sensitive skin and Peter whined high in his throat when he bit the skin gently, his hips bucking in desperation, begging for something, _more._

Mr. Stark’s hands tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, “Off, now.”

It wasn’t a question and Peter pulled away from his lips long enough to whip his shirt off his over heated torso and toss it somewhere behind him, pulling Mr. Stark back into his grasp, his lips finding his again. 

Peter’s fingers wandered over Mr. Starks chest, feeling the corded muscle, the raised scar over his heart where the arc reactor used to be, flicking over a nipple in curiosity and he was rewarded with a moan. It puckered and stood erect under Peter’s attention and when he gave it a particular harsh tug, Mr. Stark pulled away with hooded eyes and a whispered _fuck_ that went straight to Peter’s cock. 

“Fuck, I want to taste every inch of you,” Mr. Stark muttered, pushing Peter back on the cool lab table and his warm lips cut a trail of liquid fire down Peter’s skin, sucking bruises into his neck, his collarbone and when he circled a nipple with his tongue, Peter moaned so loud he swore everyone upstairs would be able to hear him. 

“Please, Mr. Stark,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the silky strands. 

“God that shouldn't sound as hot as it does, fuck, you have no idea what you do to me, kid.” Mr. Stark muttered, continuing his exploration of Peter’s body. 

He licked and sucked at his nipples until they were deliciously sore and sensitive, his hands gripping his hips and when Mr. Stark’s lips stopped at the waistband of his jeans, he flicked his dark eyes up to Peter’s and he could see the question floating underneath the heat and Peter nodded quickly, bucking his hips. 

_“Please, touch me, I need you.”_

Mr. Stark closed his eyes on a groan and undid his belt with nimble fingers, and Peter raised himself on to this elbows to watch Mr. Stark unzip his jeans, pulling them down his long legs. 

Peter’s cock sprung free, slapping wetly against his abs and Mr. Stark smirked, “No underwear?” 

Peter flushed, suddenly shy, “My jeans were too tight, so I had to go without them.”

Mr. Stark hummed, wrapping his calloused fist loosely around Peter’s flushed cock and Peter moaned, bucking his hips, “That’s hot, baby. If I have it my way, you’ll never wear them again.”

Peter whined when his thumb flicked the sensitive skin underneath the head of his cock, biting his lip to suppress a whimper when Mr. Stark squeezed experimentally. 

“Shit, I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” Mr. Stark muttered, staring at Peter’s cock with a mixture of wonder and lust and Peter felt himself preen under the praise. 

Mr. Stark flicked his eyes up to Peter, “What do you want me to do, baby? Do you want me to jerk you off?”

As if to demonstrate his point, Mr. Stark gave Peter’s cock an experimental stroke, the callouses of his hands catching all the right places and Peter wanted to scream in pleasure. 

“Huh? How does that feel?” Mr. Stark asked, stroking him at leisurely pace and Peter nearly fell to his knees when he twisted his wrist just as he was coming up to the head. 

“So good, Mr. Stark, so _fuck, good.”_ Peter panted, canting his hips in time with his strokes. 

“Mm, I’m glad, baby. Is this what you want? My hands on your cock or,” Mr. Stark whispered, his breath hitting the head of Peter’s dick and there was no way—

Mr. Stark kitten licked the head, lapping up the precut that was drizzling out of Peter’s cock like a fountain and Peter saw stars, “do you want my mouth? How’s that baby? Do you want me to blow you?”

Peter panted, his senses tingling, every nerve in his body standing in attention to what Mr. Stark was doing between his legs. 

“Fuck, your mouth, _please_.” Peter whispered brokenly, gazing down at Mr. Stark with such a desire that Tony popped the button on his own trousers to gain some sort of relief on his swollen cock. 

“Anything you want baby, but do me a favor?” Mr. Stark said, nodding his head to the leather jacket that lay, abandoned, at Peter’s side, “Put the jack back on.”

Peter complied with shaky limbs, sliding the now cool leather on his oversensitive and heated skin and Mr. Stark hummed his appreciation. 

“You look so fucking sexy in that, fuck.” Mr. Stark whispered and Peter couldn't help the grin dancing on his lips if he tried. 

Mr. Stark took Peter’s cock into his mouth, moaning delightedly at the weight of it on his tongue and Peter moaned at the wet heat and the vibrations. He knew he wasn't going to last long, there was no way, with how worked up he was and his senses dialed to eleven and with how talented of a lover Mr. Stark was. 

He sucked Peter’s cock as if it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, tongue lapping at the skin under the head, flicking over the tip to collect the pre-cum and swallowing him back down, hollowing his cheeks as he set a rhythm that had Peter seeing stars. 

“Fuck, Mr. Stark, so good, _god.”_

Peter’s hands went to Mr. Stark’s hair and he tugged, making Mr. Stark moan in appreciation and suck Peter harder, taking him all the way in his mouth and Peter’s hips bucked in response. 

His belly was pure fire, his balls tightening and he was so close already. He never wanted this to end. 

“Come for me, Peter, I want to taste you, baby,” Mr. Stark whispered, stroking Peter before he took him back into his mouth, upping his rhythm and Peter sobbed, his mind lost in a haze of pleasure so hot and warm he felt like he was going to exploded. 

Mr. Stark’s hand gripped his ass and Peter was so distracted by Mr. Stark’s mouth that he didn’t notice his cheeks parting until a warm finger found his entrance and traced around his rim and that dark promise, the pure want for that finger to breach him, to stretch him until he felt full, was enough. 

Peter came with a loud cry, his vision whiting out, his head spinning and Mr. Stark took it all, sucking it down greedily and pulling off with Peter with a pop, his finger still tracing Peter’s fluttering hole and kitten licking the head of his over sensitive cock, making Peter whimper at the overstimulation. 

Mr. Stark rose from between Peter’s legs, his hands still cupping his ass, that damn finger brushing over his entrance had Peter pushing back on it with a desperate moan, his eyes fluttering open to gaze into Mr. Stark’s hooded ones. 

“One day very soon, baby, you’ll know what it’s like to have my fingers _here_ ,” he pressed to emphasize his point and Peter whined, wishing more than anything for that day to be _right now,_ “stretching you open, prepping you for my cock.”

“Please, Mr. Stark,” Peter begged, lips forming a pout and a warm chuckle brushed over his lips. 

“You’re so eager, baby, I love that about you,” he murmured against Peter’s lips, “but not tonight, not when I have a bunch of people upstairs. If I had it my way, I’d take you, just like this, into the elevator and up to my bedroom and spread you out on my bed and take you so many different ways, even your little healing factor wouldn't be able to help with the soreness tomorrow.”

Peter panted, wishing more than anything for that scenario and despite having just came, his cock gave a weak twitch at the images his description was providing. 

“Soon, Peter, soon.” Mr. Stark promised, brushing a kiss against his lips and Peter moaned, tasting himself on his lips. He was there now, with smokiness of the bourbon and the taste that was unique to Mr. Stark.

Peter’s hands wandered to the tops of Mr. Stark’s open trousers, slipping his fingers beneath the waist band and gripping his impressive length and Mr. Stark groaned, deep in his throat and Peter grinned. 

“Can I suck you?” Peter whispered against his lips and Mr. Stark sucked in a breath, nodding. 

“Yes baby, anything you want to do, I’m all yours.” Mr. Stark said and Peter’s heart warmed at the implications behind it. He slid from the counter, right down in front of Mr. Stark cock, pushing his breeches down enough for his erection to spring free and Peter moaned at the sight. 

Mr. Stark’s cock was long and thick, flushed pick at the circumcised head and just as tan as the rest of him and Peter licked his lips in anticipation. He wrapped his hand around it curiously, marveling at the feeling of the warm and silky skin under his finger tips and Mr. Stark moaned as Peter began to stroke him. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” Mr. Stark said roughly, his gaze hot and heavy on Peter. 

Peter smirked, looking at him from underneath his lashes before he took him into his mouth, swallowing him down as far as he could go and Peter closed his eyes at the taste, moaning around the cock in his mouth. Mr. Stark tasted musky and clean, mixed with sharp, salty taste of cum and Peter wanted more. He knew Mr. Stark was bound to have better blow jobs, but Peter knew what he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm. He tried to watch his teeth and use his tongue, flicking the head, sucking over the tip and using his hands where his mouth couldn't reach. He marveled at the warm skin in his mouth, the weight of Mr. Starks cock on his tongue and sucked, working into a rhythm that had Mr. Stark gripping the table behind him with one hair and Peter’s hair with another. 

“Yes, that’s it baby, good you’re good at this, fuck.” Mr. Stark muttered between gasps, his hips twitching with the effort to stay still and Peter wanted more. 

So on the next up stroke, Peter flicked his wrist and flicked his tongue across the tip at the same time and Mr. Stark growled, his hips thrust into Peter’s mouth and Peter moaned in triumph, hoping that was enough to encourage Mr. Stark to fuck his mouth, use Peter to gain his pleasure. 

“Is that what you wanted? Me, fucking into your mouth?” Mr. Stark asked, thrusting his cock gently, experimentally, still conscious of not pushing Peter too far. 

Peter moaned, eyelashes fluttering and Mr. Stark groaned, his tentative thrust gained more meaning and intent, “Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, baby.”

With Mr. Stark now thrusting into his mouth, Peter used his other hand to explore, touching his inner thighs, giving his balls a quick squeeze that made Mr. Start thrusts stutter and with that in mind, he gripped them in his palm, rolling them with his fingers and began to really suck in earnest. 

“Shit, that’s, yes, so good baby, fuck Pete I’m not gonna last much longer—“

Peter took that as a challenge, moaning at the thought of Mr. Stark cumming on his tongue, he sucked harder, hallowing his cheeks, taking Mr. Stark deeper, flicking his wrist on every upstroke and fondling his balls in tandem and when Peter flicked his eyes up to Mr. Stark through his eyelashes and met his heated gaze, that’s what sent Mr. Stark over the edge. 

“Fuck, _Peter—“_ Mr.Stark gasped, gripping Peter’s hair tightly and Peter moaned at the taste of the salty cum on his tongue, swallowing down every drop eagerly, suck gently until Mr. Stark pulled him away, sliding down on the floor next to Peter, panting. 

They sat there, in a sweaty, panting, stated mess and Peter felt something like contentment curl in his belly. He leaned his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, curling into his body heat and sighing, his eyes feeling droopy. 

Mr. Stark’s fingers landed in Peter’s hair, as much to anchor him to his shoulder as it was to continue to play with the soft and messy strands that had long since fallen out of their ’50’s inspired ‘do. 

“You keep calling me Mr. Stark.” Tony murmured after a moment, brushing a kiss to the top of head and Peter hummed, snuggling in further. 

“It’s just a habit,” He muttered sleepily, “besides, I think it was kind of hot.”

Tony chuckled, “Well, I don’t disagree with you, angel, but if we’re going to keep doing this, I think I would prefer you call me Tony.”

Peter blinked his heavy eyes open, biting his lip, suddenly shy and insecure, “Do you—uh, want to, you know, make this like a, uh—regular thing?”

Mr. Stark— _Tony,_ gave him a hesitant smile, “If that’s okay with you.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Tony interrupted him, “I know that I’m an old man and I have, issues that I’m uh, working on, and I’m not perfect, I’m way too clingy and needy and I tend to screw things up, _a lot,_ but just know that I’ll never do anything to intentionally hurt you. You mean— _so_ much to me and I just want you to be happy, Pete.”

Peter felt like his heart was going to burst and he couldn't help the stupid grin on his face if he tried, “You make me happy, Tony,” he murmured, shifting to face him directly, his heart clenching at the insecurity and vulnerability shining in those dark depths, “I want to be with and I don’t care what anyone says, you understand me and what I went through and forty isn't _that_ old—“

“—when I’m dating a twenty-one year old, who, until a year ago, thought he came back the seventeen year old he died as, that might freak people out a little bit—“

Peter rolled his eyes, straddling Tony’s waist and suddenly becoming aware that he needed to fix his pants and Tony needed to pull his up, but he forged on, cupping Tony’s chin in his hand, “I love _you,_ Tony and I don’t care how old I am or how old you are or how this happened, all I know, is that I know what it’s like to face life without you, to be wandering a planet alone without you and I-I can’t go through that again. Life is way too short for me to live it filled with regrets and I know what it’s like to die filled with regrets and I refuse to waste my second chance by caring what other’s think of me.”

Tony regarded Peter silently, his mouth slightly agape at his little impromptu speech and while Peter could feel his ears burning, he refused to be embarrassed or ashamed about this. While their tryst had been hot and sexy, there was also a deeper meaning to it and Peter felt that in every touch and kiss Tony had laid on to his very willing body. He could feel the care and desire Tony had for his body and Peter knew he’d be an idiot to feel any sort of regret or shame in someone that obviously cared that much about him. 

“So you love me, huh?” Tony said finally, a slow grin playing on his lips. 

Peter rolled his eyes, slapping Tony’s exposed chest, his cheeks flushing a deep red, “Duh, I don’t just spend almost two-hundred dollars on a leather jacket that I’m only gonna wear once, for a stupid Halloween costume at that, to impress just anyone, okay?”

Tony’s eyes heated, his gaze drifting to the leather jacket slung across Peter’s shoulders and his bare chest underneath it, “Such a good investment and one that needs to worn more often than just today. But maybe not in the presence of other people because I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do to you when I see you in this.”

He stroked a finger down the sleeve as he spoke, “Have I told you how good you look in this? Because you look _really_ good in this.”

Peter blushed, biting his lip shyly as he peeked up at Tony from underneath his lashes, “I do?”

Tony grinned, “You do—you really, _really_ do.”

His gaze turned serious, switching from heated to soft and earnest as quick as Peter could blink, “I’m not always great at saying it, but I hope you know that I love you, too, so much.”

Peter’s smile could light up all of New York and Tony smiled back, equally as bright and big, and he leaned down and captured Peter’s lips with his.

His lips were warm and soft and Peter melted against him, running his fingers through Tony’s silky hair, pulling him closer to him. He could feel the warmth in his belly, pooling low into his abdomen and working its way down to his already half erect cock and Tony groaned, nipping at Peter’s lip, desperately seeking entrance that Peter was all too happy to give him. 

_“Sir, Ms. Romanoff has requested to relay a message to you—“_

“Not now, Fri,” Tony muttered, beginning to trail hot kisses down Peter’s neck, delighting in his soft whimper. 

_“—she says that the party is over and no one is in the living room, so you and Peter can come out from the lab and make your way to the bedroom like normal human beings.”_

Tony huffed a laugh while Peter groaned in embarrassment, hiding his face in Tony’s shoulder. 

“How does she know?” Peter mumbled, his face flushing with more than just arousal. 

“Nat knows everything, sees everything and hears everything. She probably knew about this before we did.”

Tony patted his thigh, “Come on kid, one of us has a bad back and will most definitely feel this tomorrow.”

Peter laughed, rolling off Tony’s lap and standing up all in one smooth motion, tucking himself back into his pants and setting off to find his shirt.

Tony grumbled something about a “show off” and Peter laughed, holding out a hand, which Tony accepted after a moments hesitation. Peter marveled at how well they fit together, like they were made for each other and something warm unfurled in his chest at the thought.

After they pieced themselves back together enough to look half way decent in case they ran into someone, they slowly made their way out the lab—a space Peter could never look at or think about in the same way _again—_ and into the main hallway leading back towards the living room of the penthouse. 

Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket when they reached the elevator and he finished it out of his too tight jeans to see it was a message from MJ. 

_MJ: So how’d it go with War Monger?_

Peter bit his lip, smiling down at his phone as he sent back an array of emojis, including several egg plants and smirking faces. 

_MJ: gross_

_MJ: i hope war monger didn’t throw his back out_

Peter snorted a laugh and Tony shot him a look, “Already find someone else worth your attention?”

Peter smiled, backing Tony into the wall of the elevator, “The only person that’s got my attention is you, alone, in this elevator, for the next thirty seconds.”

Tony hummed, his eyes heating, “How about we make things interesting? Whoever comes first has to make breakfast tomorrow.”

Peter grinned, already trailing his fingers down Tony’s chest to the top of his pants, “Now you’ve got yourself a deal,” Peter whispered, brushing a kiss to Tony’s lips, _“Mr. Stark.”_

_~~~~_

_MJ: dont forget to wear a condom,_

_MJ: u don't know where his dick has been last_

_MJ: also, im happy for you finally got laid loser_

_MJ: even if he is old enough to be ur dad_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)


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